


Burning notebook

by Strudelmugel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Character Death, Cold War, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a decade of turbulence and change, young journalist Luca Morgens wants a front seat for it all, to be able to document events that would surely go down in history. In the aftermath of a war that took everything from him, he's desperate to tell the world of the conflicts still raging across the planet, and to try and make a difference. When he and his best friend finally get their chance at a big story- sneaking into a country closed off from the world- he realises just how dangerous his job truly is. His editor's ulterior motives aren't helping matters either.<br/>And things get complicated fast when he throws his lot in with Andrei Radacanu and his eccentric family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- Innsbruck

**Author's Note:**

> Franz- Kugelmugel

_1938, Innsbruck, Austria_

…

They had very, very little time left.

"Hurry up," Érzsebét hissed, cradling her baby son in her arms and desperately trying to stop him from crying, voice a thin, grating wail that cut through her. He was wrapped up in a thick blanket, woollen hat stuffed on his head and covering a few tufts of fine, silvery hair. His mother also wore a woollen hat, sat at an awkward angle on her frazzled brunette hair and she wore a thick coat over her brown skirt, hiding a jumper several sizes too big, thrown on back-to-front in her haste to get dressed. Her tights were wrinkled and gloves abandoned. There was no time. A pair of battered suitcases stood at her feet: one for her and one for her husband.

"I am almost finished," Roderich called back, standing hunched over a typewriter on his desk, fingers flying over the keys with ease, as if it were the piano he much preferred. He, too, had dressed in a hurry after getting that telephone call. A warning from a friend that might very well save his life. His family's lives. Roderich's own trousers were back to front, his shirt buttoned up in the wrong order, but for once his appearance meant nothing to him.

"We do not have this kind of time!" The baby in Érzsebét's arms was crying harder now, sensing her distress. His pudgy fists flailed about, wriggling free of the blanket and his face distorted as he wailed.

"Everything is fine, Franz," she cooed, "daddy's just being stubborn. Again." She smiled, but it was quickly replaced by a worried frown. She couldn't lose her family now, not after all the promises she'd made to them. Their house and possessions could fall into enemy hands for all she cared, but her husband and son were not to be given up so easily.

"I just need to finish this paragraph and we can go," Roderich called, "one more minute. Please. You know how important my work is."

"One minute, Edelstein," Érzsebét decided not to mention that it was because of his important work that they were in this mess. Roderich didn't care though, and would continue to write his articles until the day he died.

Although, they decided, it would be much safer to write them from unoccupied France.

And Érzsebét would support him. She would help him fight his battle against the government that had annexed his country so suddenly and with little resistance. And she would protect her stubborn, journalist husband with her life.

She just wished Roderich would stop getting into so much trouble. He was usually so refined!

Érzsebét did not blame him though.

Even when his office had been smashed, he'd continued writing, trying to stir up resistance among his countrymen. When they threatened him and closed down his newspaper, he wrote in secret, distributing leaflets with the help of some co-workers. Now most of those co-workers had either fled or been rounded up in the middle of the night and taken away by the secret police, never to be seen again. Mrs Schmid, for example, only ever received her husband's bloodied glasses to tell her he was dead.

And Roderich was next.

Well, he would be if they didn't leave tonight.

They weren't sure how exactly they could get across the border without being arrested, but they had to try. Roderich was an influential member of the press, so surely there would be a regular reader somewhere willing to help them. Then again, his notorious dissent coupled with going on the run, Roderich would become a wanted man, so there was the constant danger of someone turning them in, either out of fear or for personal gain.

Still, Érzsebét was certain she could protect her boys and get them to safety, though it would be helpful if they stopped making keeping themselves alive such a frustratingly difficult task. She shushed Franz once more and just as she was contemplating picking up Roderich and carrying him across the border, he gave a yell and jumped up.

"Finished!" Roderich ripped the sheet of paper from his typewriter and bounded over to her, "would you mind looking after this for me? You know easily how I lose things."

"Of course," Érzsebét stuffed the article in her hat, "but how exactly do you plan to publish it?" she asked, dragging him towards the door with Franz in one hand and her suitcase in the other.

Roderich managed to wriggle free in the hall long enough to grab his coat and scarf, attempting to put them on with one hand as the other was clutching his own suitcase. It was full of a few items of clothing and some food, despite his requests that he at least take a few music sheets. Music sheets weren't going to prevent him dying on the journey; Érzsebét had been firm about that.

"I have a friend in Paris who promised to distribute them as leaflets. I shall consider it my legacy."

"It might well be if we do not get out of the country tonight."

Just as she spoke those words, the trio were shaken by a thunderous knocking.


	2. Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luca- Luxembourg
> 
> Monique- Monaco

_Paris, 20 years later_

…

"Another cup of coffee please, Luca."

Luca Morgens put down his broom and nodded at Francis, whom had been too busy typing an article on Brazil's World Cup victory to even look up. When he looked over at Arthur, the latter glanced over and nodded.

"Cup of tea please," Arthur threw a glare in Francis' direction, and found the latter was smiling to himself as he worked. Luca just rolled his eyes, used to their rivalry and determination to oppose each other in just about every little thing from sport to films to food. Especially food.

The three shared a tiny office- one of many in the building- crammed around one messy desk, where two typewriters, pots of ink, and trays of paper sat in an organised jumble. A map of France was pinned on one wall, as well as several posters and charts. Next to Arthur's typewriter was a picture of him and his siblings as children, and next to Francis' was a photograph of his little sisters, including Monique: Luca's best friend and workmate.

Arthur himself was writing a piece on the upcoming film 'A Night to Remember'. Both articles had to be completed in time for tomorrow's publication, so Luca left them both to it and went to make the drinks.

He wished he was more than an apprentice. He wanted to write front page articles on the big news stories happening around the world. He wanted to be on the front lines of wars seeing for himself what was happening and showing the public the reality of it all. He wanted to interview politicians and give ordinary people a voice. He wanted to comment on the social changes taking place in so many countries right this minute.

But for now he was stuck making tea and coffee for the 'real' reporters.

He wondered why his editor never gave him a chance. Mr Edelstein kept insisting he was not ready for even the smallest story and needed more training and experience first, and that frustrated Luca to no end. He just needed a chance, to show he could stay calm in a crisis and write an article people would want to read.

At this point though, he'd be happy reporting on a cat stuck up a tree.

Luca had considered doing a few spots of freelance work for other papers, but there was just never any time. Everyone worked long hours nowadays and Luca had very little spare time. Of course, it would become worse once he became a real journalist, but at least then it would feel worth it.

He entered the little kitchen area, barely bigger than a storage cupboard, and picked up a tiny, tin kettle, filling it with water and placing it on the stove. As he waited for the water to boil, he fixed his hair using the reflection in the steel; maybe if he made more of an effort with his appearance, he might get noticed by the editor.

Luca glanced up to find Antonio- another reporter- looking at him with interest. He coughed awkwardly and straightened up.

"Can I help you?" he asked, a polite smile on his face as he hoped his burning cheeks weren't blushing visibly; he didn't want anyone to think he was vain.

"Well, no, I just have a message," Antonio replied.

"Oh? From whom?"

"Mr Edelstein himself," Antonio's grin widened, "said he wanted to speak with you and Monique. I do not wish to get your hopes up or anything, but I think you might be about to get your break, kid."

Luca was honestly surprised that he didn't faint there and then. The editor wanted to speak with him? What for? He was either in big trouble or his dreams were about to come true.

But what if he was being let go? Maybe the company was losing money to competitors and they needed to lay off some staff? A little tea boy was hardly essential to the running of a newspaper, as was a secretary like Monique.

No, he had to be positive! Maybe he was being sent somewhere amazing! There was a chance he could be asked to report on the war in Algeria. After the Korean war, he'd wanted to become a war reporter and see the horrors for himself, to bring the conflicts home so people could see what others were going through around the world.

He was born in a war and it seemed he had a need to live in them too.

Or he could be being sent to America. There were always important stories going on over there. Maybe he was going to Britain to report on a story about the new monarch. Maybe Mr Edelstein wanted him to go to his homeland of Luxembourg to find out about a story. Had anything interesting happened there lately? Did anything interesting ever happen there?

"Erm, Mr Morgens? Luca?"

Luca blinked, and found he'd zoned out, rather embarrassingly. Antonio was waving a hand in front of his face, mouth pinched into a frown.

"Your meeting?" he said.

"Oh, right," Luca winced and darted past into the corridor, "what a disaster to be late for that!"

"Shall I turn off the kettle then?" Antonio called after him.

"Oh darn!" Luca smiled apologetically, "that would be lovely, merci!"

 

…

 

The editor's office was crowded and cramped, books and papers spilling out of every shelf and crevice. An ashtray overflowing with the remains of cigars was placed precariously on top of a pile of letters. Pens, ink, ornate letter-openers, framed photographs, paper weights and a plaque bearing the name 'Roderich Edelstein' bordered a sheet of paper containing a plan for a newspaper page that took up most of the desk.

It was safe to say Mr Edelstein was a disorganised man. Even if he had been relatively tidy in the first place, an aging body and old wounds stopped him from organising his disgrace of an office, though Monique was trying her hardest to sort through ten years of clutter.

When Luca entered the office, she was busy buzzing about trying to find reports and photographs to piece together for tomorrow's edition, carrying a broom under her armpit.

But despite her rather low-ranking job, she was dressed immaculately in a red blouse and long black skirt. Her hair was in its usual messy plait, held together by a red ribbon. She glanced over and smiled at him as he sat down on the sofa in front of Edelstein's desk.

"Still trying to hold back the tide?" he asked.

"This whole place is a Goddamned mess!" she replied.

Of course, Monique didn't want to spend her entire life cleaning up after eccentric editors; she wanted to be a famous, glamorous photographer. Even now, her chunky camera was dangling from her neck, just in case something amazing happened in this office or on her way home and she needed to document it.

She was determined to become a professional photographer, no matter how many times she was told it was a hopeless dream. Very few thought she should be allowed to pursue such a career, and even fewer who thought she actually could. Still, Monique was a stubborn young woman and wasn't going to let others get in the way of her ambitions. And Luca was happy to just sit back and watch her prove everyone wrong, and give support when needed. It was how they'd worked since childhood. When Monique's mother had told her she wouldn't pay for her daughter to have a camera, she got a part-time job, saved up and bought her own one. When her mother stressed the importance of going to college to look for a husband, like a young girl should, she came back with a history degree instead.

Luca considered himself a reasonably clever man, but knew his knowledge would never compare to Monique's. She was extremely intelligent and just seemed to know what to do in most situations, always appearing calm to those around her, but Luca knew how much she could worry. Not that he blamed her.

Still, they were both optimistic by nature, and hoped that eventually their years of hard work would pay off and they'd be a famous, unstoppable journalist-photographer duo.

"So, Mr Edelstein wants to see us?" he began, glancing up nervously, "did he give you any indication as to the nature of this meeting?"

"None whatsoever," Monique sighed, "you know how much of a maverick he is. Just went off to make a coffee and said he would explain everything when he got back."

"And when was this?"

"About half an hour ago," Monique sighed, "he has probably gotten himself locked in the toilet again or something." She shook her head.

As if on cue, the office door opened and Roderich Edelstein entered with a steaming cup of coffee and a frown.

"This building is too big," he moaned to himself; "I just walked into a room and swore I'd never seen it before in my life." His shaking hands struggled to keep a grip on the cup, and he quickly set it down on the desk.

Luca watched him closely. It wasn't often that he had a meeting with the editor, since he himself didn't actually do any writing, just sweeping up and making the tea like a good little lackey. Roderich sat down in his chair, which dwarfed his frail figure, and Luca couldn't help but wonder if he'd always been like that, before the camps and the torture.

Roderich's skin was greying, his hair thin and had long lost its shine. Faint scars could still be seen on his arms and face, and there were probably dozens more under his tweed suit. He had lost his vision in one eye and he seldom smiled due to his cracked teeth. Luca had heard the other journalists mention that he was constantly suffering from health problems because of his experiences.

Roderich noticed his staring and a sharp glare sent Luca's eyes to the ground.

"Sit down, Bonnefoy," he snapped, and Monique set her pile of papers down before sitting next to Luca.

"You wanted to speak with us, sir?" Luca began apprehensively.

"I am aware. That was why I called you into my office," he gave a sigh, staring at the pair for a long moment. "Look, I am sure it has not escaped your attentions that I have yet to really give you much of a chance here, and quite firmly declined any such notion of the matter."

"The thought has crossed our minds," Monique agreed.

"Well, the truth is, this all was because I did not want your names in a newspaper just yet. You never know what sort of spies read them."

Luca and Monique exchanged confused glances. Maybe Mr Edelstein had finally lost his mind.

"I have been planning a special mission for the pair of you for a while now," Roderich continued, "and of course, I could hardly say anything until it was all sorted, but now I think it's time you knew."

"What kind of mission?" Luca's heart soared. This was it! He was finally getting a chance to report on a story, and with his best friend, no less!

Roderich didn't reply immediately.

"It will be dangerous."

"We can handle it!" Monique exclaimed, "there's no challenge too big for us!"

"Are we going somewhere abroad?" Luca asked, breathless.

"Indeed you are," Roderich gave a nod, but seemed reluctant to continue, opting for taking a sip of his coffee instead.

"Sir? Where are we going?"

"We are going to try sneaking you into the Soviet Union."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I realise these two chapters probably don't make much sense together. There's a lot that's yet to be revealed, like where Hungary and Kugelmugel have gone, and what happened to Roderich in the span of 20 years. And, of course, how it all relates to Luxembourg and Monaco.
> 
> I'm afraid to say that updates for this will be slow, as I've again started something I know the beginning and end to, but not the middle. So in my mind it goes from Luca living in Paris and being sent to report in the USSR all the way to *bleep bleep gunshots sirens ending spoilers bleep* right at the end. Which is irritating. If you wanna suggest ideas or where you think this is going, feel free to tell me so I can steal those ideas.
> 
> Also warning for violence and a bit of character death in this fic.
> 
> Also, historical notes: in the year this chapter [and the remainder of the fic] is set, 1958, Brazil beat Sweden in the world cup final, and the film 'a night to remember' was released, based on the book by Walter Lord written earlier in the decade and documenting the sinking of the Titanic, and is generally considered the best account of that night. Sorry guys you will never escape my boundless Titanic-related trivia. I haven't watched the film of 'a night to remember' yet but the book is amazing!
> 
> Fun fact: 1958 is also the year Luxembourg came joint-last in Eurovision. Still, they won it five times so it's probably forgotten by now. I mean, it's not as good as Ireland's number of wins but it's something.
> 
> Since when did I write such long author's notes?


	3. Russia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anri- Belgium
> 
> Adriaan- Netherlands
> 
> …
> 
> Oh crap this is late. Still trying to get the plot figured out. I've even resorted to making a story hill, which is actually rather effective and I don't know why I stopped using them before.

"Oh Luca, my little Luca. I cannot help but worry even more now you will be going far away!"

"Anri please," Luca just let his sister fuss over him with only the mildest of protests. "I am a whole twenty-two years old. I am not a child any more and can look after myself!" He stood in the middle of his bedroom as Anri played with his hair and straightened his tie. She'd always loved playing with his hair, soft and fine like hers. It was thick and covered one side of his face, lighter than both his siblings' in colour.

"But the Soviet Union?" Adriaan cut in from the doorway, thin brows knotting together, "that's dangerous. You could get killed so easily."

"I know, but it will be my big break!" Luca brushed past them, stuffing more clothes into the suitcase strewn on his bed. "If I can write a good scoop, then Mr Edelstein will let myself and Monique cover more stories! I could end up going all around the world," he smiled excitedly, flopping onto the sheets; "that would just be the best! I could keep a scrapbook or journal of my travels too, and make time to tell you all about them, of course."

"But then we would worry even more," Anri sighed, "we will always worry about you though."

"But I am a very sensible boy," Luca protested.

"To an extent," Adriaan told him; "you are curious though; you have to know everything. And you are far too trusting. That makes me nervous."

Luca squirmed, jumping up to look for other things to pack. "I am not," he muttered, though he knew his brother was right.

Fine, he'd have to be careful on his mission. Really careful, especially since he had no idea what to expect. How would the locals react to them? Would they even be able to sneak into the country safely? Would they end up being arrested if they slipped up? Being arrested was the one thing he hoped with all his heart wouldn't happen. Especially since arrests generally led to torture, imprisonment, deportation and even being shot, if the rumours he'd heard were true. It was a fate he'd try his best to avoid, since it would certainly spoil his day, and probably his hair too.

Luca wasn't sure a month's crash course in basic Russian would be sufficient to communicate his way through such a place, but that was all the time they had. Still, Monique had picked it up easier than he did, so he decided he would let her do all the talking when they got there.

Luca packed a pair of brand new notebooks- gifts from Francis and Arthur- and a fountain pen into his suitcase, along with a spare tie and some warm socks. What would the weather even be like there?

He tried to ignore his siblings' continuous fussing, thinking about that fateful meeting in his boss' office.

 

…

 

Neither he nor Monique spoke for a full minute.

Was Mr Edelstein having a laugh? Was he on drugs even? How exactly did he expect to pull something like this off? The USSR was dangerous, even with this apparent 'thaw' in the cold war. Luca had heard about the American and Western emigrants who had defected there only to disappear within a few years. Chances are they were shot by the secret police or died in a Gulag. But that had been back in the 30s, during the purges. Surely they wouldn't meet the same fate, right?

"Are you serious?" Monique asked eventually.

"Quite so."

"We are going to get murdered," Luca whimpered.

"It is a risk, yes," Mr Edelstein sighed, "but it could give us valuable information."

"Yes, but we will probably be murdered," Luca repeated calmly.

Roderich sighed. "I know I am asking a lot of the pair of you, and you are free to turn down this mission. I want to get a story on life in that country. What it is like to be living under a dictatorship."

"If that is all you require, then I could just write about my childhood."

"A  _Communist_  dictatorship, Morgens. I want to know what lies behind the curtain."

"But how would we pull something like this off?" Monique asked.

"I know people who know other people," Mr Edelstein shrugged, "everything is sorted in that sense. If you accept this story, then you will be taken out to Turkey, where a friend of Francis' will smuggle you into Odessa in his boat."

"That does not sound risky at all," Luca commented, though he had to admit a trip to Turkey was tempting. He'd love to write about Turkey, and maybe sketch a few buildings, and try some Turkish food. Yes, a trip to Turkey could be just what he needed, apart from the whole being smuggled into a dangerous country on a leaky boat polava.

"You will then be transported to Kishinev where you will try to find a woman by the name of Érzsebét. She will help you."

"Érzsebét?" Monique repeated, "Hungarian, right?"

"Correct." Roderich looked away. "I have reason to believe you will find her in Kishinev. Tell her that I sent you, and she will give you shelter and food if she has any. I am afraid I cannot tell you more about her."

"Can you at least tell us what she looks like?"

Roderich nodded and slowly, shakily, opened one of his desk drawers. Another pause. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and pulled out a photograph. Roderich held the tiny photo in his hands for a long moment, eyes shining with sadness as he stared at it before- with some hesitation- he handed it to Monique.

"I want it back," he told her, voice catching slightly, "when you return."

"Of course," Monique stared at the photograph before wrapping it in a handkerchief and carefully placing it in her purse. Luca only had time to glance at an image of a young woman with a mess of brunette hair holding a baby. They had been special to Mr Edelstein; it was clear.

"The picture is twenty years old," Roderich mumbled, "so she might not look the same. You shall recognise her though."

"And should we be on the lookout for an ankle-biter too?"

Roderich flinched. "Well he would be an adult now, would he not? I lost contact with them just before the war. I don't know if the boy's alive even, let alone what he looks like now." There was a crushing sadness to the edges of his voice as he said that, like every word was agony to admit.

"How do you know where this woman is then?" Monique asked.

"It is a hunch, understand?" Roderich sighed, resting his chin in his hands and refusing to look at them, "I heard rumours from people Francis' friend talked to. It's not much to go on, I know. I'm just trying to provide you with an ally in a dangerous country."

"The information is appreciated," Luca gave a warm smile, and it seemed to help. Roderich straightened, face a mask of determination and control once more.

"I do not want you out there for more than a year, two if you must. Your safety is key; remember that. Don't get into trouble, don't get involved in anything dodgy and don't get yourselves killed."

"Wasn't planning on it," Luca replied. It shouldn't be a problem if he could help it, and if external factors stayed on his side. He wasn't a troublemaker, now matter how much he'd liked to have been. Monique, on the other hand…

"We have not even accepted this mission yet," Monique stared at her boss with challenging eyes. Ah yes, an absolute troublemaker. Luca knew she wouldn't appreciate the effort, but he promised himself to look out for her closely while they were away, to watch for any warning signs and act before she did something they'd both regret.

But Monique followed her own agenda. She had her own principles and would stick by them rigidly, ignoring anyone who told her otherwise. She was like a stubborn old man at times.

"I will of course be giving you time to think," Roderich told her.

"Oh I already made up my mind," said Monique firmly, "there's no way I would be silly enough to turn down an opportunity like this."

"Of course," Roderich turned to Luca, "Mr Morgens, you are also allowed to take your time in deciding."

"Where Monique goes, I go," Luca replied, "we are a team. Anyways, I cannot let her have all the fun." He threw his friend a wink, and Monique rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips twitched upwards.

Luca sighed and looked at his knees. "It's not like I have anyone who would miss me, so why not?"

…

The momentary lapse in his concentration had left him alone in his room once again. Luca didn't know why he bothered to kid himself like that, talking to them like they were still alive; Anri and Adriaan were long dead and he'd never see or speak to them again. Luca hated war.

War had taken so much from him, left him an eight year old orphan wandering half-destroyed streets, bewildered and crying for his family. He'd been freezing and starving, and alone. So, soul-crushingly, alone. His stomach was a vacuum, threatening to cave in and his face was smeared with dirt. One of his shoes fell apart and he'd carried his few, battered possessions in his arms, wrapped up in newspaper. He'd been in absolute agony too, the blood dribbling down him adding to the horrific sight and making him look dead already. He'd wished he had been. 

During the course of the occupation, several of his friends were deported with their families, or arrested and sent to camps for resisting and striking. They'd just stopped turning up for school and he never saw them again. People had been tortured and when they thought the fighting was finally over, that they were free, the shelling came as war raged through Belgium, France and his dear Luxembourg.

He remembered his sister dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night, taking him downstairs in the dark, hiding him under the heavy, wooden desk and telling him not to come back out until she said so. He barely heard her over the explosions in the distance, growing nearer and nearer by the minute. His vision was dark, only illuminated by the occasional dull orange flash. He saw his sister by the window, clutching her necklace and trembling as she peeked through the curtains.

Then the bomb hit.

Luca hated war more than anything else in the world, yet he found himself drawn to it. He had to report on it. He had to let the world know that people were suffering as he suffered, that children were going through what he went through as a child. War was his nemesis, his goliath, and he was determined to expose it if he couldn't defeat it. Oh he would try though. Luca was no soldier, just a spindly little boy with a nose buried in a notebook, but he would stand up to war. It's destructive hands had somehow spared him and that had been it's fatal mistake.

He stood in the middle of his room, staring into space before realising he was running late. He grabbed his slippers off the floor and stuffed them into his suitcase, pulling on his long, tan coat and stuffing a hat over his head before bursting out the door.

And ran into Monique in the hallway.

"Oh, hey, Mon," he tilted his head slightly, "what are you doing here?" Monique didn't live in the building; she had her own flat a few roads down.

She'd abandoned her blouses and skirts for a shirt tucked into baggy trousers, tight around the waist and held up by a pair of braces. Monique had even tucked her hair under a flatcap, and she'd traded her purse for a larger one, which probably housed her camera and some more clothes.

"I just want to make sure you packed properly. Somehow I do not trust your ability to pack without incriminating yourself, and it's better I search your suitcase first, rather than leave it to the KGB."

"Are you serious?" he asked, but Monique didn't reply. Instead, she stuck her hand down his collar- much to the man's shock- and began to feel around for something.

"What on earth?" he cried, trying to wiggle away, "stop, that tickles!"

"Aha!" Monique pulled out something silver and glistening, hanging from a chain. "Thought you'd have it on you. Leave it at home."

"My cross?" Luca looked at her in horror, "but why?" He never went anywhere without it, and couldn't bear to be parted from the tiny sliver of silver.

His cross had been a present from his sister, back when he was a child and their religion was suppressed by the Nazi forces occupying their country. She'd whispered to him to wear it under his shirt, and she'd whispered it in French. A banned symbol and a banned language, all small acts of rebellion. Not enough to change the world, but it was something. It made them feel brave, feel like they hadn't been beaten.

But small acts of resistance were never enough for Adriaan.

Luca had remembered him meeting with members of the tiny Luxembourgish resistance, collecting money for people who'd been fired from their jobs and hiding everyone from Allied pilots to clergy to Jewish people to army deserters in their tiny house and smuggling them across the borders. It had only been a matter of time for something went wrong for him…

"Religion is not welcome in the USSR," Monique hissed, "you will be in trouble if the Soviet police found it. They might confiscate it and harass you."

"I would not want to lose it," Luca placed a hand protectively over his cross before taking it off.

"You do not want to give them another reason to arrest you," Monique added.

Luca sighed. "Monique, I'm scared. What the hell did we agree to?"

"Who knows? But do not fret," she added with a wink; "I shall take care of you. Speaking of which…" She grabbed his suitcase and marched him back into his flat.

"Oh come on, I was careful!" Luca cried, but he was ignored and Monique set his case back down on the bed. He sighed as he placed his cross under his pillow. It would be safe there.

"Then this shall not take long." She pulled it open, and immediately groaned. "Slippers? Really? And you call me an old man."

"They're my nice slippers," Luca blushed and looked away as she held up the offending pair, "what's wrong with them?"

"We are supposed to be travelling light," Monique replied; "you do not need this many clothes."

"You are joking, right?"

"Take one spare outfit, some underwear and a few accessories," Monique ordered, "and put them in a smaller bag."

Luca nodded miserably and did as told, digging out a shoulder back and packing his extra shirt and trousers in as carefully as possible, along with the few other, permitted items.

"And you leave your books at home," added Monique, "they would most likely be confiscated."

Luca made a strangled noise, but knew she was right. He stroked the tiny collection of novels, guides and political memoirs he'd placed at the bottom of his suitcase affectionately before glancing at yet more piled onto a sagging shelf in the corner. A whole year without his books? Still, he'd come back to them eventually; if they were confiscated, he'd lose them forever.

"Fine." If he'd have known he couldn't take his books, he'd have given 'The Picture of Dorian Grey' another read. And 'Little Women'. And 'Huckleberry Finn'. And he'd probably end up never leaving.

Slippers? Clothes? Books? They were all so trivial, and Luca knew he had bigger problems, but he couldn't help being upset about it.

"I worked so hard for my nice things," he muttered, placing the blank notebooks and his pen in the bag, "never had any, back in the orphanage."

He saw Monique shake her head out of the corner of his eye, and she handed him his slippers. A small victory, but it was something. He threw her a warm smile as he packed them into his shoulder bag.

"Now hurry up," she mumbled, rolling her eyes, "we have a train to catch."


	4. Chișinău

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrei- Moldova  
> Irina- Transnistria  
> Alin- Romania  
> Ediz- Gagauzia  
> Skender- Valia  
> Eugen- Federal Republic of South-Eastern Carpathians  
> Stanislav- Chernoslovakia  
> Katya- Ukraine
> 
> ...
> 
> I swear I am updating things other than my huttmol and trnsea fics!  
> So this chapter is from Moldova’s perspective to shake things up, and introduce some new characters. There are a few ocs that crop up in this, who are Romania and Moldova’s little siblings and places in Romania and Moldova, namely autonomous states and micronations. Transnistria is probably the most well known, and is a de facto state along the Ukrainian border of Moldova comprising mostly of Slavs whilst Gagauzia is an autonomous region in southern Moldova, with the majority of the population being Gagauz. Valia is an Aromanian micronation in Romania that had been around since 2002 but only just got round to declaring independence whilst SE Carpathians is a micronation in Transylvania, only a few years old. Interestingly, SE Carpathians is stated to not recognise Transnistria, but doesn't mention other unrecognised states so I’m gonna assume those two ocs won’t get along. Chernoslovakia is a Slavic micronation that appeared in Transnistria early last year. It has a population of 2, is a dictatorship and its national animal is a duck, so generally sounds like an odd place, though not too odd by micronation standards.  
> Art of these ocs can be found on my DA and tumblr.  
> Anyway, on with the show!

Chișinău/Kishinev

 

…

 

Andrei was always awoken by his sister.

Irina liked to wake up early, because she liked school, and- of course- it was up to her older brother to get her ready. And when she woke up, her little brothers usually followed, whining for food and attention.

Their oldest brother, Alin, was still fast asleep, and Andrei cursed his ability to be completely oblivious to his sister’s whining. He glanced over at him with one half-open eye and scowled. Alin’s eyes were closed, and he dribbled as he snored, arms wrapped around another two brothers: seven year old Skender and three year old Eugen.

“Alright, Irinushka, I’m up,” he growled, pushing his sister away to stop her persistent poking. Next to her, twelve year old Ediz blinked slowly as he sat up. The three shared one narrow bed whilst Alin, Skender and Eugen took up another.

“I’m hungry,” she stated, watching Andrei sit up and rub his eyes. Irina was just ten years old, with long blonde hair that always got in her way, and a face far too serious for someone of her age.

“You and me both,” he mumbled back. He got up and pulled on a shirt, walking over to Alin’s bed and kicking the man awake. Softly, of course. Out of his siblings, Andrei had to admit he preferred Alin the most. It was terrible, he knew, but then again, he could talk more freely around Alin.

“Huh? What?” Alin grunted as he sat up, “is it morning already?”

“Morning would not come so quick if you didn’t spend all night at that restaurant,” Andrei commented.

Alin didn’t reply. Instead, he got up and began searching for his clothes, expression sheepish and hair dishevelled. Skender also climbed out of bed, carrying Eugen with him and setting the child down in the corner next to the youngest sibling: Stanislav, just a baby and sleeping in a little box crib. Ediz scratched his shaved head, pushing his sister out of the bed before getting up himself.

“You should get everyone ready,” Alin said. And Irina nodded as she tugged at Andrei’s sleeve.

“I want breakfast,” she told him.

“Alright, darn it,” Andrei rolled his eyes and finished getting dressed, Irina, Skender and Ediz doing the same. He pulled clothes onto Eugen, and picked Stanislav up out of his crib, stroking his fine tufts of dirty blond hair. The baby greeted him with a bored expression as he threw his toy duck at Andrei’s head, and he glowered at the tot as he bent down to retrieve the toy, only to have it thrown at him again. Alin, meanwhile, sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the opposite wall.

“You should hurry up,” Andrei told him, “cannot have you to be late for work.”

“Likewise.” Alin sighed, “look, just get the little ones fed and off to school. I can sort myself out.”

Andrei wanted to argue, and shake some sense into his sorry rag of a brother, but instead he just handed Stanislav to Ediz; grabbed a loaf of bread and a few other items from the cupboard; pushed his siblings out the door; and began making his way towards the kitchen.

Alin had a secret, and he was determined to find out what it was, one way or the other. But he couldn’t say anything in front of the little ones, Irina and Ediz especially. They’d tell someone, inform on them at school or something. Their teacher said they had to. He knew Skender wouldn’t though, because he didn’t agree with informing on family, though Andrei and Alin were the only ones who knew. Andrei smiled at his little brother, who was slowly, carefully, leading Eugen by the hand.

Andrei had to put a hand against the wall as he walked in near-total darkness. The corridors to their block of flats was usually dark, since every family had control of one light bulb each and would only turn it on when needed. And not many people were up this early. Andrei liked it that way; it meant they could have the kitchen to themselves for a short while.

Their block was a communal apartment block, a large house modified to give those coming from the countryside somewhere to live, and the idea was that everyone was equal, and everyone shared. Each family had one room that was their bedroom and sitting room, and shared a kitchen and bathroom with other families. It was cramped, crowded and far from ideal, but it was certainly better than living in a barrack or dormitory, like a lot of people did. Still, the government had started building new apartment buildings, said to be considerably better and a bit more private, but they were a long way away from being complete. Not to mention Andrei couldn’t see a way of him and Alin getting their hands on one, given that they were the only two family members old enough to work and there were seven mouths to feed.

Still, as Alin always said, they could be worse off.

Andrei led his raggle-taggle group of siblings into the kitchen and found Katya eating porridge at the table. She smiled warmly at him as he made his way to his own workspace- each family had their own section of worktop- and began cutting slices of bread for everyone. He ordered his siblings to sit at the table and they did so, surrounding Katya.

“Comrade Katya,” began Irina, “can you do my hair in that nice plait for me please?”

“Leave the woman eat her breakfast in peace,” Andrei chided.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” replied Katya with a laugh. Irina turned so she was facing away as Katya began to plait it. “Irinuska’s hair is so lovely anyway. Reminds me of when my sister was little.” She smiled sadly at that.

Andrei nodded, and continued to slice bread. He piled the slices onto a plate and set it down on the table, watching as his brothers each took a slice. He took Stanislav off of Ediz, balancing the baby on his hip whilst he warmed him some milk. In gratitude, Stanislav threw his duck at Andrei’s head.

“There, all done,” Katya smiled.

“Thank you!” Irina beamed, feeling the trio of thin plaits stretching across the top of her head and dangling down one side. Just the way she liked them. Irina thanked her again and took a slice of bread.

Andrei knew Katya wouldn’t admit it, but it wasn’t just her fondness of the girl that made her agree to plait Irina’s hair every morning. It was also fear. Irina had a habit of informing on her neighbours at school, and had done so several times for the silliest of reasons. Whilst that made her popular with some of her teachers, it left her generally disliked among the building’s tenants, not that she was aware of it.

“So, I will be seeing you at work on time?” asked Katya, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards as she walked over to her own worktop to wash up her bowl.

“Of course,” Andrei smiled as he stirred the pan of milk, trying to ignore Stanislav sinking his gums into his shoulder. “Just got to drop Eugen and this little fella at the crèche first and the rest at school and I’ll be right with you.”

“I shall see you later then,” she dried her bowl and left, waving to the children as she went.

“Okay, so eat up everyone; I actually have things to do that don’t involve you kids.” He poured the warm milk into a cup and sat down, beginning to feed Stanislav.

“Have you three done all your homework?” he asked Ediz, Irina and Skender, who all nodded. “Have you packed your school bags?” They shook their heads, and he shooed them away. Skender grabbed Eugen’s hand and dragged him along behind them.

“Well that will give me a few minutes peace, at least,” Andrei sighed, wiping a drop of milk from Stanislav’s mouth with a thumb, only to have the baby bite his hand.

Andrei groaned and banged his head against the table.

…

“On time, I see,” Katya greeted Andrei as he entered the tailor’s.

“You sound so surprised,” Andrei placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt.

“And unrightly so,” Katya shook her head, “you are never late. But we have to get those orders finished by tomorrow, so apologies if we get a bit stressed.”

“Of course,” Andrei sat down at his table and switched on the sewing machine, taking out the order he was working on. The tailor’s only opened once a week for orders, and only took a certain number of them, in order to give those working there time to complete them by the next week. Although owned by the state, Katya was the one who managed everyone, and the handful of tailors answered to her.

Andrei liked his job. Yes, it was long and often hard work, but he wasn’t opposed to a challenge, and he loved sewing and dressmaking. He’d often been teased about it as a boy, but who was laughing now? He had a stable job, and chances were most of his former classmates now worked in heavy industry, slaving away in mines or factories for next to nothing. Yes, Andrei didn’t earn much, but it was more than most people did and one of the main reasons his family now lived in a communal apartment.

Another plus-side to his job were his co workers. Katya was the kind auntie he never had, and even her little sister Natalya wasn’t so bad, deep down. Farkas was the only other man working there, and was Andrei’s best friend. He was two years older than Andrei himself and lived in the same apartment block with his ageing mother; his father had died when he was just a baby.

Andrei turned around to grin at him, and Farkas smiled back, lilac eyes twinkling. His long blond hair was tied into a ponytail and his shirt sleeves rolled up as he stitched together a long skirt, a tiny mole just visible under his left eye. Even wearing his plainest clothes, Farkas stood out and that worried Andrei to some extent.

“Get the little ones to school and creche fine?” Katya asked, and Andrei nodded, looking back at his work. He was making a summer dress for a customer, a plain black one.

Apart from a few complaints, Andrei was generally satisfied with his life. Yes, he’d have liked to have been able to talk without fear of his little siblings informing on him, and maybe find out what Alin’s business in that club was, and some more food and space would be appreciated, but they were better off than a lot of people.

He wasn’t prepared to get into trouble trying to change things. And he certainly wasn’t going to encourage behaviour that threatened him or his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd ask people to offer up suggestions as to whom Farkas is, but I think it's pretty clear which 'nation' he represents.


	5. Istanbul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuzey- TRNC  
> Temel- Aden
> 
> ...
> 
> Yes I added my Aden oc in a fic again. For those who don't know, he's an oc for the micronation in Turkey.  
> Also, don't you just hate it when you go to set a chapter in a certain place, only to find out it had burnt down at the time this fic is set and was still being rebuilt?

Luca stood at the edge of the crowded bazaar, observing the world going by. Ever since he’d first read about it, Luca had longed to visit the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul and spend all day wandering the winding, indoor streets, shopping to his heart’s content. He'd imagined a few hours of peace, talking to people and writing about what he saw. And now he was finally in Istanbul, he found out the Grand Bazaar was being rebuilt after a fire a few years ago and he’d had to go to the Egyptian Spice Bazaar instead, which was considerably smaller, but Luca didn’t mind. He’d bought some sweets: delicious Turkish delight and Baklava he’d always wanted to try, and looked around in silence.

He was enjoying his moment of peace, away from the others and their constant talk of plans, making himself and Monique read every resource they had on the USSR, which wasn’t a lot, really, but enough to keep them occupied all day. And the more he read, the more nervous Luca became about their upcoming mission. They’d really dived in the deep end here with this.

Out here was a different kind of busy, more cheerful and friendly, people greeting friends or haggling over products, as opposed to snapping, whispered voices telling him what he should do or say to avoid being sent to a Gulag. It was a busy he could just drop out of, observe from the edge without getting himself involved. He loved observing people, studying them. Learning them.

Luca listened to everyone talking, wishing he could speak Turkish. But his head was already too cramped with French, German, Luxembourgish, and a pitiful excuse for Russian to make room for another language. And he feared he might have to. Mr Edelstein had insisted on them learning Russian, with it being the official language, but they weren’t even going to the Russian SSR! They were going to the Moldovan one and he had no idea what the lingua franca of Kishinev would be.

They’d arrived in Istanbul a week ago, and Luca was rather irritated at not being able to spend that time visiting all the tourist attractions. He’d managed to get a few glimpses of some of the city’s monuments as they travelled from the docks to Mr Adnan’s house. The trip to the bazaar was the most Luca had seen of the city, and he loved walking through the crowded streets, watching trams trundle past tall buildings as children played in the street.

Mr Sadik Adnan was nice too, an old friend of Arthur and Francis’ they’d met during a trip whilst still at university. He was older, and jolly, with a booming laugh that resounded across the house at random moments after he’d tell a joke. Mr Adnan spoke a little French, and had said they could stay as long as they needed, and that any friends of Francis and Arthur’s were friends of his. Apart from Mr Edelstein. Those two didn’t get along at all.

But to be completely honest, Luca noticed that Roderich had been irritable with everyone, and he was paler than usual. He looked more ill than ever, if that were possible.

But he and Mr Adnan certainly disliked each other. Roderich didn’t like how loud and cocky Sadik was and Sadik in turn hated his uptight attitude and prissy nature, making things all the more unpleasant for everyone else that lived there.

Mr Adnan also had two young sons: Kuzey and Temel, who lived with him and were curious about the crowd of new people suddenly living in their house. Kuzey, the older one, was a serious boy, not very humoured but an intelligent kid. He was around thirteen years old, and didn’t talk much, just stood in doorways listening in on the adults’ conversations until he was ushered away by his Baba. Temel, the little one, was seven and a happy, bubbly child who constantly asked questions and talked about his pet budgie, Beans. He loved all the new company and wanted to talk to them about whatever took his fancy.

Luca liked the two boys; they were a light-hearted distraction from the constant sense of impending doom, and he’d sometime sneak away from the others in order to talk to them for a few minutes, simply because they didn’t talk about the KGB or Gulags or anything else that made him want to change his name and flee to Ghana.

He still remembered the morning they left, nearly two weeks ago in the early Paris light and only just making their train. Roderich had chided them as they walked down the carriage to their seats, and Francis and Arthur did the same once they’re sat down. Luca had been pretty confused about their presence, given how busy their jobs were: too busy to disappear to another country for a few weeks, but Francis explained that Roderich asked them to come along, as they’d travelled to Turkey before, and were acquainted with this contact Roderich had mentioned, the man who would be smuggling them into Odessa, Mr Adnan himself.

The train journey had been uneventful, with Arthur and Francis joking about Luca’s face when he’d finally stumbled back into their office upon hearing the news and slumped into his chair, completely aghast at the mission he’d just received. And not to mention him then jumping out of his chair and disappearing with a yowl when Arthur asked about where his tea was.

“There you are!”

Luca jumped as he spied Arthur storming towards him, a stormy expression on his face. He cringed and shrank back, wondering if it was worth making a run for it. No, of course not. That would just make things worse.

“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Arthur marched up to him, hands on his hips as passers-by paused and stared at the commotion.

“Apologies,” Luca mumbled, “I just needed a break.”

“From reading?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Luca rolled his eyes, “from thinking about what we are about to do. It is more than a little terrifying.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I can understand why you would be worried, but please warn us before you go running off on your own. Francis is hysterical! He thought you’d already been taken out by an assassin or something.”

“Do not worry, if someone did try and take a shot at me, the bullet would just glance off my hair.”

“Don’t talk bollocks,” Arthur glared at him, “this is serious.”

“I was just trying to make a joke,” Luca protested.

“Well now’s not the time for jokes. You’re just a kid, so don’t go throwing your life away.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that when you joined the RAF?”

Arthur flinched. “I didn’t have a choice, you brat. My country needed me and I wasn’t going to sit around doing nothing. Besides, I’d have been conscripted anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Luca looked away, “but I’m so scared.”

“I think what you need to do is ask yourself why you’re doing this in the first place,” Arthur told him, “and if those reasons outweigh your reasons for turning back.”

“Oh how can I turn back now? I already gave my word, and I need to look out for Monique.” Luca sighed. “We have all come so far and put so much effort into this it’s selfish to think of my own feelings. I am simply a little nervous, that is all.”

“None of us would judge you for it if you went home, little-un,” Arthur glared at him in a way that Luca took to mean concerned, “you just focus on your comfort.”

“I am a journalist,” Luca wrinkled his nose, “comfort isn’t an option here.”

“Yet it’s one you wish to keep.” Arthur stared at him evenly.

“Look, this is my big chance, my time to show everyone I’m just as capable as reporting on a story as you or Francis or Antonio! I can’t pull out! I could never forgive myself if I did.”

“Well if you’re certain,” Arthur closed his eyes and gave a short, sharp sigh, but said no more on the matter. “Look, we had better get back to Francis before he has a heart attack or something.”

“Of course,” Luca followed Arthur out of the bazaar, and they soon ran into Francis, who was standing in the street, looking rather distraught.

“You’re safe!” he cried once he spotted Luca, rushing over to pull him into a crushing hug, “thank goodness!”

“He went for a little stroll, apparently,” Arthur gave Luca a withering look, and the latter shied away.

“Anyway,” Francis cooed as he stroked Luca’s hair, “let’s get you home. Monique has been worried about you too.”

“She is?” Luca sighed, “fine, I’m coming. What are you two anyway? My parents or something?”

“Substitute older brothers,” Francis corrected, and Luca felt his heart warm at that.

“Sod off,” Arthur growled, “he’s no brother of mine! I have enough bloody brothers as it is.”

Luca laughed. “In that case, may you lend me a few?”

“We’ll see.” Arthur couldn’t help joining in with the laughter.

…

“I knew your brother, you know?” Sadik commented as he readied his ship, loading barrels into the hold of his tiny fishing trawler: The Meryem.

Luca nearly dropped the barrel he was carrying; “you did?”

Monique looked over upon hearing their conversation, and busied herself with the nets, moving over to the other end of the deck to give them some privacy.

“Yes, he stopped by here a few years before the war,” Sadik took the barrel off Luca and set it down, staring out to sea with a wistful expression.

Luca nodded. “I remembered him going abroad for a few months, stopping off at a few places around the Mediterranean and the like. It’s incredible he met you of all people though.”

“Fate works in interesting ways like that,” Sadik shook his head, “Adriaan Morgens, he is your brother, right?”

“That’s the fellow.”

“Yes he talked about you and your sister all the time,” Sadik continued with a smile, “you were his pride and joy. I remember him telling me about how you’d just learnt to crawl when you left and you were constantly putting things in your mouth and driving everyone up the wall.”

Luca blushed, letting out a small laugh.

“So you and Adriaan were close friends then?”

“Very close,” Sadik sighed, still staring at the horizon.

“Your sister was still at high school then, right?” he asked.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Did she ever become a chocolatier? Adriaan said that’s what she wanted to be. I know there has been rationing up your end of Europe, but surely-”

Luca stared at his shoes. “Uh, no, she died during the war.”

Sadik’s smile fell, and he stood up straight. “Oh, I see. I am so sorry to hear that. I would have liked to meet her someday too.”

“I'm sure the two of you would have gotten along perfectly. She almost made it too, but our house was shelled in the Battle of the Bulge right at the end of the war. Anri died in the blast, and I almost did too, had the fire brigade not pulled me out.”

“That must’ve been awful for you, at such a young age too,” Sadik pulled Luca into a hug, and the boy couldn’t help snuggling into into his barrel chest and soft shirt. “How did you and Adriaan manage?”

“Oh he was long gone by then,” Luca’s eyes burned with tears, “died in 43.” He didn’t want to tell Sadik any more. He didn’t need to know that the last time Luca saw his brother alive, Adriaan was lying in the street, blinking blood from his eyes, half-dead and unable to defend himself. He wasn’t about to ruin Sadik’s last memories of what was clearly a dear friend.

He felt Sadik’s hands rest on his shoulders and he was gently pushed back.

“The war really was unkind to you,” he said grimly, using his knuckles to gently brush Luca's hair: that lock of fringe he always made sure was covering his face. Thankfully, he made no attempt to brush it back. Probably didn't need to.

“It was unkind to everyone,” Luca replied miserably. “Thirteen years later and the world’s still rebuilding. And even this one wasn’t the war to end all wars.”

“Don’t think there’ll ever be such thing, well, not without obliterating humanity with nuclear weapons first.” Sadik pulled a face.

“Dare I enquire as to how… it happened?” asked the old man after a long moment.

Luca shrugged. “I would... rather not talk about it. Let’s just say he was a troublemaker until the bitter end. Trust me when I say you do not want to know more.”

“Good old Adriaan,” Sadik grinned before his smile abruptly fell. “You are the spitting image of him, you know? Albeit, you have a more feminine edge but you're his brother to a T.”

“So I’ve been told,” Luca replied. The swell of pride whenever someone compared him to his siblings never dimmed, no matter how often he was told.

“Seems like you are just as much of a troublemaker as he was,” Sadik looked around the boat with a grim expression, “and if you’re not careful you’ll go the same way.”

“I am aware;” now Luca’s pride was replaced by a flash of irritation. “I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Adriaan used to say that a lot too,” Sadik commented. “Look, from where I stand, you are no older than my dear Kuzey. Just be careful kid, got that?”

“Yes, I understand perfectly,” Luca bristled. Why must everyone treat him like a delicate child? He was a grown man trying to do a job he signed up for! He knew the risks when he pursued a career as a journalist, and he and Monique were more than capable of looking after themselves, even on a trip like this. What did Sadik know anyway? He just sat in his fishing trawler and looked after his sons.

Luca frowned. Now that he thought about it, it seemed a bit strange, his situation.

“Speaking of Kuzey,” he began, thankful for a change of subject, “does he and Temel not have a mother?”

Sadik looked down. “No, she died in childbirth.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine, you didn't know,” Sadik smiled sadly. “She was the only woman I ever loved and I miss her every day. It’s agony, huh? Having someone you care for so dearly ripped away like that.” He sat on one of the barrels and looked at Luca thoughtfully.

“I’m not saying do not do this,” he told him, “far from it, boy. You have dreams? Then chase ‘em! But please be careful; you don’t need to go getting yourself killed by stirring up trouble. There are people who would miss you terribly if you died.”

“There isn’t, the war made sure of that.”

“What about Monique?” Sadik raised an eyebrow, “or Francis or Arthur? Even that Mr Edelstein would hate to see you dead.”

Luca ignored that comment. “But the world needs trouble makers, you know, people who don’t hide and actually fight.”

“Yes and your report will cause enough trouble. Don’t go trying to overthrow governments or put people in danger. Not only will you have blood on your hands, but you won’t even end up doing the thing you were supposed to be doing.” Sadik glared at him for a long moment.

“I don’t plan on getting people hurt,” Luca replied calmly, “I can assure you. I’m just going to have a little look around, write down my findings and get out of there.”

“Good,” Sadik grinned, “sorry for going all old man on you, but I don’t think I could forgive myself if I didn’t look out for Adriaan’s little brother.”

“Yet you’re still willing to sail us into Odessa?” Luca smirked.

Sadik laughed. “I think I know enough about your family to realise standing in your way is pointless. I tried that with Adriaan once and the idiot charged on ahead anyway.”

…

“So I think everything’s sorted and we’re ready to go,” Sadik rubbed his hands together, standing proudly on the gangplank in front of the the small crowd gathered. “Time to bid you all a farewell.”

Luca watched as a sobbing Francis pulled his sister into a hug, ignoring Monique’s squirms and embarrassed snapping. Francis rattled off a stream of babble, making his sister promise to wash and behave and make sure she ate properly.

Luca watched the scene and loneliness washed over him, so he looked away. It was Francis and Monique’s moment anyway.

He turned to Arthur, watching the scene in disdain, and he swore a hint of jealousy was there too.

“I’m not giving you a hug,” he snapped once he saw Luca staring at him.

“Never asked for one,” the boy mumbled, watching as Sadik held his children, making them promise to be good and telling them that he’d be home soon. Kuzey looked almost as embarrassed as Monique, but Temel clung to his father with teary eyes, pleading with him not to go to sea again. Sadik just sighed and prized his son’s hands away, assuring him that he’d be fine and home again the next day.

Luca glanced over at Mr Edelstein, who was staring at the scene with shining eyes, wiping away any tears that dared spill with a lacy handkerchief. Even his dead eye was watery now.

He looked ill, Luca realised again. Over the past few weeks he’d became thinner, frailer. His skin was a more pronounced shade of grey and he wouldn’t stop coughing.

Luca walked over to him, a kind smile on his face.

“I have to ask, before we leave,” he began, following Roderich’s gaze, “what is the name of the child in the photograph? I plan to search for him.” He watched as Sadik cracked what he assumed to be jokes in Turkish, in an attempt to make his children smile. It wasn’t working, but that didn’t deter the old man.

“Franz.” Roderich didn’t look at him, and seemed to shrink as he said it.

“Franz who?”

Roderich glared at him. “Franz Gottlieb Edelstein.”

“He is your son, is he not?”

“What was your first clue?” Roderich snapped before turning back to the Adnan family.

Luca sighed. “I’ll find him, I promise.”

“Don’t make such a promise,” the handkerchief was covering his mouth now, “you cannot even guarantee he’s alive now. No one can.”

“Then I will find out what happened to him, sir. I’ll do my best; it’s why you’re sending us there, isn’t it? To find them.”

Roderich didn’t reply, and a shout from Sadik caught Luca’s attention.

“Come on then!” he called, running up the gangplank, though he was soon out of breath.

Luca stepped forward, grabbing Arthur’s arm whilst Monique began to climb the gangplank.

“What is it now?” Arthur hissed.

“Keep an eye on Mr Edelstein, if you don’t mind. He doesn’t look too well.”

Arthur glanced over at his boss and nodded. Luca let go and climbed onto the boat.

“So where will we be hiding?” Monique asked as her friend joined them.

Sadik just grinned and patted the barrels.

“That will never work,” Luca whimpered.

“Of course it will!” cried Sadik, “now squeeze yourselves in one each and just think fishy thoughts.”

…

Arthur chanced another glance at Mr Edelstein as they watched the Meryem sail off into the distance and he tried to console a sobbing Francis. Luca was right; he really didn’t look well at all. It was an unwelcome distraction to the notion that those young co workers might well have been sent to their gruesome deaths.

Just as he thought that, Roderich doubled over in a fit of coughs, almost on his hands and knees and his shoulders wracked as he spluttered into his handkerchief.

“Sir!” cried Francis, rushing over to help him up.

“I am fine,” he hissed, swiping Francis’ hand away, “get off. There’s nothing wrong.”

Francis and Arthur exchanged worried glances, but neither argued with him.


	6. Kishinev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bodashka- Nyo Ukraine
> 
> ...
> 
> Fuuuuuck this is so late, sorry everyone! This chapter was just so difficult to get into, but it’s here! I did it! Yay me.  
> Apparently Luca’s tragically horrible backstory is just what I needed to write more of to get interested in it again. Hopefully, future chapters will be more frequent, given that it was just this piece of shit chapter that I was struggling on.  
> I really, /really/ like this fic but I’m so overly paranoid of getting things wrong that it’s starting to eat away at my enjoyment, which is a shame because I just want to get in and write. It wouldn’t be so difficult if sources of information were easier to come by, in all honesty. Still, I love this story and am not willing to let it go. And let’s face it, who else would have an interest in writing these four pairings together?  
> Still, hope you enjoy this one.

They’d barely been here two days and already Luca wanted to leave.

No matter where they travelled or where they stayed, Luca couldn’t escape the overwhelming haze of paranoia that clouded his mind. He swore people were watching his every move- though everyone they’d met paid them little attention- that the shadows hid countless threats, that the walls really did have ears and eyes. He didn’t want to even open his mouth, in case swarms of soldiers burst in and beat him senseless for saying the wrong thing. He hadn’t realised their situation would get this bad this quickly! And things were supposed to have thawed out...

The choking, oppressive atmosphere would drag him back to his childhood, to the constant terror of saying something condemning, the hazy memory of Anri hissing in his ear to never repeat what she and Adriaan said or did at school, lest the bad men come and drag them off in the middle of the night. Blurry, images of streets swarming with soldiers; the simple, undying hope that his home would soon be liberated; picking up a leaflet calling for a general strike and stuffing it into his jumper before anyone saw; Adriaan ordering him and Anri to stay off school when he saw the leaflet (and he for one not having any complaints); and then, only days later, posters announcing that the strike leaders were dead- deported to camps and shot or beheaded. Those were just some of the horrid childhood images etched into his memory, and here they were resurfacing more frequently than usual. They made him sick.

It might just be him though, as Monique didn’t appear to be as badly affected. But you never knew with her. She was just better at hiding things than he was. Luca tended to wear his emotions on his sleeves, and he for one hated it. Placing such a high value on his feelings, over logic and reasoning, would get him in trouble one day, he knew it all too well. Adriaan was a logical man, and it certainly hadn’t saved him; Luca himself would have no chance, he feared.

Still, they’d enjoyed exploring a new country.

When they’d arrive in Odessa, Sadik had left them in a warehouse, where a friend of his opened up the barrels and let them out. He’d introduced himself as Bodashka and given them Soviet passports, after confiscating and destroying their French ones first. He gave them instructions on where to go and what to do, and the name and address of his cousin Katya in Kishinev. It wasn’t much, but it would certainly keep them away from major disaster for a while.

The train ride from Odessa had been somewhat eventful though, due to the pair of them, and their luggage, being searched by the guards. It didn’t help that they’d drawn attention to themselves at the station by nearly missing their train and bolting down the platform to catch it before it left, nearly succeeding in knocking over a group of Grandmas. Luca had even picked up Monique when she was too slow, and threw her onto the train. What? It had been a habit of his ever since he surpassed her in height- picking Monique up and carrying her around like a little doll. A grumpy, movable doll that would hit him with a handbag. But she truly was slow! Her habit of shuffling along like an old man would’ve caused them to miss the train, and he didn’t know when the next one would come along.

From Odessa, they’d travelled through Tiraspol and on to Kishinev, arriving earlier that day and immediately searching for a hotel to stay it. Katya could wait until tomorrow.

Kishinev was an interesting city, to say the least. Everything was either new or yet to be finished, Stalin-era style buildings having cropped up everywhere, newer buildings starting to join them, and the streets were rather sparsely filled with cars and busses. Factories bellowed out smoke and there were people everywhere, always busy and minding their own business. The city was nowhere near as huge as Paris, but certainly bigger than the tiny town in northern Luxembourg that Luca grew up in.

Their hotel was near the centre of town, paid for with the few roubles Monique had stuffed into her underwear before they were searched, the guards having bullied them into handing over most of the money Roderich gave them for their expenses. It was still rather cheap though, thankfully, and probably because of that, the room they shared was something on the small side, with a single, flickering bulb above Luca’s head.

“The boy in the photograph,” he began, and lying on the bed next to his, Monique lifted her head up, “do you know what he is called?”

Monique shook her head.

“Franz Gottlieb Edelstein.”

“I knew it,” Monique smiled, “I guessed they were related in some way. So this Érzsebét is an old love? His wife? Who knows? But they were a family, it seems.” She laughed, a bitter edge to her voice. “So that’s why we are really here, yes? He does not care about our careers or finding out about this country.”

“Why would anyone besides us care about our careers?” Luca commented, “and maybe he wants us to complete both tasks. I mean, he has a newspaper that needs stories, right? This could be an opportunity to find out about this country and find his love and child.”

“Be careful with what you’re saying there; you’ll get us in trouble. It’s sweet how innocent you still are after all this time, though,” Monique drawled.

“Don’t call me such a thing,” Luca clawed at his fringe self-consciously, making sure it was staying in place, “you know I can never call myself that any more.”

Monique looked at him in interest. “Anyone would think you fought the war yourself.”

Luca laughed at that.

“The fact of the matter is we have been used,” she continued, “Mr Edelstein just wants us to find these people. He doesn’t care if we actually report anything.”

“I have a feeling you will do so anyway. I will,” Luca smiled, “it’s what I’m being paid to do, after all. And find his family. I plan to do that too.”

“You do now?”

“I promised him I would.”

“Mr Edelstein does not like promises or vows or the like, and you know that,” Monique warned.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Luca shook his head, “‘no one can truly guarantee anything, thus promises are simply empty’ and the like, but I want to find them for him. Maybe seeing his family will make him less…”

“Miserable?”

“Indeed. He has been in a perpetual state of misery for as long as I’ve known him, and I want to change that.”

“Have you ever considered you might be the reason for his perpetual state of misery,” Monique joked, and Luca gave an offended cry.

“Well why do you insist on being my friend then?” he challenged.

“I have never insisted on anything,” Monique winked, “you’re the one insisting on my company like a little puppy.”

“And there was me thinking it was because we have _so much in common_ ,” the last four words were drawn out, and Luca grinned as he spoke them. Monique laughed, catching on.

“Oh of course,” she replied, “so much yet absolutely nothing.”

“Indeed.” This was the closest either of them could get to saying it explicitly, especially in a place like this.

“So how are you liking the Soviet Union?” asked Monique.

“It’s… different,” Luca replied, glancing down at his slippered feet, “yes, let us go with that.”

“Agreed,” Monique nodded slowly, “I want to learn more though. I’m sure this place has an interesting history.”

“I will look out for some books for you then.”

Monique nodded, glaring at his slippers and shaking her head. Luca responded by swinging his legs in the air.

He stared up at the ceiling: low, dirty and seemingly coming closer. He frowned. The more he looked, the more it really did seem to be closing in on him. Dust fell from the ceiling. Trapping him. Choking him. It would collapse at any minute. This room was no more than a coffin. It was rubble. It would crush him. No one knew he was here and no one was coming to save him.

He would die here.

“I’m going out,” he sat up abruptly, head spinning and he realised he’d broken into a cold sweat.

He’d been jumpy about confined spaces lately, ever since that disaster of a boat ride. Mr Adnan had needed to pull him out of the barrel- screaming and crying- after just ten minutes inside, and only climbing back into the thing when it was time to disembark, and even that had been hell. He didn’t want to be stuffed inside that coffin. It was cramped and the salt stung his eyes and he couldn’t breathe. What if Mr Adnan forgot him? What if he took out the wrong barrel? What if Luca was left in the corner of the hold, starving to death unheard and unseen?

It was safe to say he hadn’t reacted well to being in the confined train carriage either, but at least Monique had been there to hold his hand.

“At this time in the evening?” Monique glanced past him, to the tiny window framing the sun as it set behind apartment blocks.

“Why not?”

“Good boys don’t go out this late,” she commented, tone flat. Luca bristled.

“I need air. This place is suffocating me.”

“Here too?” Monique grimaced, “you cannot seem to catch a break as of late. Look, do you want me to accompany you?”

“No need,” Luca airily waved a hand as he pulled off his slippers and fumbled for his shoes. “I can take care of myself.”

“So you say,” Monique sighed, “well, be good out there, and try to keep your nose clean.”

“I’m planning to,” was all Luca said before he stormed out the door.

 

…

 

The night air was chilly as Luca finally arrived in a part of town he recognised; the hotel had to be here somewhere, right? He guessed it was his fault for wandering off into a strange city on his own. He’d not paid attention to where he was going, just focusing on breathing, feeling the gentle wind on his face and pulling his hat down further to keep his hair from blowing about.

Luca was much calmer now, outside and away from anything that would make him feel trapped. The fear was still there, but it was no longer crippling, and although Luca was making an effort to look inconspicuous, he didn’t feel like he would be dragged away at any given moment. But then again, he hadn’t opened his mouth since he’d left Monique, and not had any contact with the locals, so he’d been unable to say anything incriminating.

It was safe to say they had two immediate goals: find this Katya person, and secure jobs for themselves. He knew they’d get in trouble if they didn’t find employment. Still, it couldn’t be too hard to come across something, and maybe Katya could point them in the direction of vacancies.

It was too dark now, and there wasn’t a soul in sight as he carefully navigated Kishinev. The inky air seemed to surround him as he walked, and once more he was choking in silence.

Luca almost cried in relief as he rounded a corner and found the hotel, barely visible through the gloom. He finally made it! Now he could go and sleep and worry about everything tomorrow. Yes, he didn’t have to worry about anything until the morning, and could just relax. He was exhausted and his face was starting to itch painfully, and it took every ounce of willpower to refrain from scratching at it.

His thoughts of sleep and a warm bed were rudely interrupted when he walked up the steps to the hotel only to find it was closed, and when he tried the handle, that it was locked too.

He had to force himself to not give the building a good kick, and instead rattled the door in the hopes that there was someone on the other side who would hear, but all he succeeded in doing was scaring a man walking behind him. Paranoid about causing an unneeded disturbance, he quickly stopped and settled down on the steps. Now what? If he could remember what window was theirs, he supposed he could throw a rock at it and get Monique to let him in. But he couldn’t remember; Monique was probably asleep; and she wouldn’t have the keys anyway. Besides, there was probably something suspicious about someone sneaking around a hotel in the middle of the night.

Well, there was nothing for it; he’d just have to spend the night outside.

Groaning to himself, Luca curled up on the top step, wrapping his coat tighter around him and glaring into the collar; it was going to be one hell of a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh by the way, it’s mentioned in the previous chapter that Adriaan died in 1941; I have now revised that so he died in 1943 instead, before anyone accuses me of plot holes.  
> In other news, I wonder how many times I can make references to the ending of this story before people get it. Kinda curious to find out now. Send in suggestions? I mean, I’ll probably cry like a big baby if someone guessed correctly, but still send them in!  
> Also, I wonder if anyone will guess what’s up with his hair/face.  
> I’m really looking forward to having Luca and Andrei meet each other, and to writing the robul.  
> Sometimes I wish I’d had my wits about me when I started this, and written this as a series of letters, diary entries and other similar documents. That would’ve been interesting to try, and a nice difference from constant prose, but alas it’s too late now. And there are certain parts where it just wouldn’t work. Ah well.


	7. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I can explain.  
>  I started writing the next chapter on paper months ago, nearly a year ago in fact… then lost the damn paper! Seriously, I couldn’t remember which notebook it was in and only recently found it again a few days ago. Then I wanted to go back and edit the other chapters because they were old and bad and embarrassing me. So now I can finally write this! Hopefully one day I can actually finish my plan for this and be able to update more regularly. Yeah, I still don’t have a finished plan for this. That might be why this is hard to update. Well, that and the godawful amount of research I still need to do for this.

It was a bit early for Monique to be waking him up.

Luca mumbled out a protest at the hand wandering over his body, down to his hip. The hand stopped at his words, withdrawing as his mind registered what was happening. 

His back throbbed, icy cold stairs digging into his ribs, and the moment he remembered where he was, the man shot up, fists raised and greeted by an unfamiliar yelp. As Luca’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realised a stranger was kneeling in front of him at the foot of the steps.

Luca himself gave a cry, scrambling back in a mess of clothes and panic as the stranger raised his hands in what appeared to be surrender.

It was not morning then, and he didn’t even think he’d been asleep that long. He was also still outside the hotel in the chilly night air, not deadly but hardly comfortable.

What caught his attention immediately was the fact that, in this stranger’s hands, his wallet seemed to gleam back at him.

“Hey!” he growled, “give that back!”

To his surprise, the stranger complied eagerly, practically throwing it into his lap. It wasn’t so much that there was anything of value inside- it was empty thanks to the guards on the train- but the wallet had been rather expensive.

“I’m sorry!” the stranger whimpered, “I was not trying to steal! Please do not go to the militsiya.”

The stranger was a boy, not much younger than him, with the beginnings of stubble and a mop of messy, dark hair. His coat was worn and thin, much like the fellow wearing it. Even in the darkness, Luca could see his eyes were glistening with tears.

“Well you clearly were trying to rob me,” Luca’s glare could cut through steel at this point.

“No, please, I thought you were dead!”

That didn’t make things any better as far as Luca was concerned. “Did you not stop to check if I was alive? Or think of fetching an ambulance?”

“Well, I tried a tad, but did not want to conduct a thorough search in case, well, you were alive.”

For reasons quite unknown to the both of them, Luca broke into a laugh at that. He couldn’t help it, really. The stranger honestly didn’t seem malicious, just silly and scared. Much like himself.

“So, you won’t be calling the militsiya? Please spare me; I have a big family! They would not survive without me!”

“I do not even know what a militsiya is, let alone how to contact one,” Luca admitted, “look, you made a mistake. Do not do it again and we will have no problem.” Whoever they were, the boy was afraid of them, and he was hardly going to betray a child like that.

The stranger frowned. “How do you not know what they are? The police?”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Luca glanced down, “I am new here. A defect. I was locked out of my hotel.” His Russian was awful, awkward and clunky, but the stranger seemed to understand him relatively well.

“Is that so?” he leaned forward slightly, studying Luca closely in a way that made him want to go to the police after all. “I have never met one before. All the immigrants I know are refugees and Eastern Europeans. Whereabouts are you from?”

Luca didn’t really want to be giving personal information to this man, but he feared what would happen if he acted like he had something to hide. Maybe it was better if he had kept his mouth shut, but it was clear he was foreign and that automatically made him suspicious.

“I lived in France before, but I am originally from Luxembourg.”

“Luxembourg?” the stranger frowned, “never heard of it.”

“It is a small country,” Luca tried to hide how stung he was- he should be used to people not knowing his homeland, but it still hurt-, “you can find it on a map, between France, Belgium and Germany.”

“Germany?” the stranger scowled, “you are not German, are you?”

“No, of course not!” that somehow hurt him more than anything else said, “I am Luxembourgish, like I said!”

“Sorry,” the stranger leaned back, “I did not know. We do not have many Germans here because it is dangerous to be such a thing now, as I am sure you can imagine.”

Luca nodded. It was pretty unpleasant to be a German in Paris too, something Luca was unfortunate enough to have firsthand knowledge of. Andrei wasn’t the only one to get his nationality mixed up. “And you, I take it, are not Russian?” They technically weren’t in Russia, after all. Luca couldn’t tell between a Russian, Ukrainian or Moldovan man, but had learnt quickly from Bodashka never to assume someone was Russian.

“No, Moldovan,” the stranger grinned, “ethnic Romanian, I suppose. I prefer Moldovan though.”

“I do not know the difference,” Luca admitted, “oh, my name is Luca Mogens."

“Andrei Radacanu,” Andrei held out his hand, which Luca took. “So, are you here with your family?”

Luca shook his head sadly. “Afraid not. I… do not have a family.” Was there need to admit that? “I am here with my companion.”

“Oh, did your family not agree with your actions?”

“No they are dead.”

“How did they-”

“That is none of your business,” Luca snapped. His voice stilled as he wondered if his actions were making him suspicious. Maybe this stranger now thought he had murdered his family? A horrifying thought. “It was the war and that is all I wish to say.”

“I lost my dad in the war,” Andrei confessed.

“That must’ve been awful for you.”

“I did not know him well,” he shrugged, “I was born in 1940 and remember little of my father or the war.”

“I envy you, in a twisted way,” Luca shifted, hugging his knees, “it is not easy to live with memories of such a time.”

“I can imagine, though the fallout was definitely hell to go through.” There was a silence between the two as Luca tried to come up with something else to talk about.

“So, you come from a big family then?” he asked.

“Oh yes!” Andrei grinned, “five brothers and a sister!”

“Wow,” exclaimed Luca, “how do you manage everyone?”

“Easy! Okay, not so much. They are all such a handful.” He grimaced at that and stood up with a groan, “speaking of which, I have to meet one of my brothers now for something important! I would love to stay in the gutter and talk, but, you know...”

“I need to sleep anyway,” Luca joked, patting the concrete next to him.

“Oh, of course,” Andrei pulled his mouth into a grin, “sweet dreams foreigner!”

 

…

 

Andrei indeed had somewhere very important to go to. Now that his little siblings were in bed, and Ediz was in charge- after Andrei had to convince him their oldest brother was not part of some defecting, anti-Soviet secret organisation, and probably just in love- he finally had a chance to follow Alin to see whatever it was that drew him to that one restaurant nearly every night, and even if he was telling the truth in regards to his whereabouts. 

Alin talked a lot, and over the years Andrei had struggled to separate fact from fiction where his brother was concerned. Even Alin himself seemed unaware of the line between reality and fiction in his words, possibly why he was so paranoid. When he deliberately told a lie, and was in a panic, oh that was easy, but when Alin himself believed in his own delusions and stories Andrei was stumped.

Not that there was no reason to be paranoid here.

He was probably in love though. Alin also had a habit of getting into short, intense relationships that always blew up in his face. He had trouble trusting people, even his siblings- though Andrei didn’t trust some of them either- and always ended up convincing himself his girlfriend was cheating on him, or out to murder him. Sometimes both.

Had he found a lover for a brief romance again? Andrei wasn’t looking forward to the fallout if that were so. Last time he’d had to practically drag his brother to work each day, on top of looking after the others. Still, Alin had looked after him through some pretty horrific times when Andrei had been little, and it was only fair he as the second oldest picked up where Alin had left off once the wounds in his mind started taking effect. And now every day he feared would be Alin’s last. The man would get in trouble eventually and Andrei could only do so much to steer him out of that path, especially when Alin himself couldn’t see when he was treading through murky waters.

Still, at least his job was in a factory and required him to be silent most of the day, because if he had to talk he would not have a job. And if he did not have a job his illness would certainly be apparent to the authorities and that would be that.

But why spend his time here? Andrei had to wonder as he stepped through the doors to a run-down establishment, was led down a dark flight of stairs and scanned the surprisingly packed dining area. Like the upstairs, the downstairs was grim and dirty, and Andrei unsure if he could bring himself to sit down here. He could barely see the stage at the far end through the cloud of cigarette smoke, and burst into a coughing fit as he stumbled to search for his brother, stopping at the bar to help himself to a bottle of something clear and strong first.

Alin just had to be near the stage, didn’t he? Andrei stopped as he observed the man, resting his head on his hands engrossed by what was clearly an empty stage. Was he waiting for someone? Presumably. 

“Ahoy, comrade brother,” he greeted, tickling Alin’s sides. Alin shrieked, jumping into a half-sitting, half-standing position and startling those around him.

“Andrei, shit, what is wrong with you? What the hell are you doing here?” Alin grabbed his sleeve and moved him to his own seat, on the opposite side of the tiny table.

Alin was in his best clothes, which were his normal clothes plus a homemade bow tie and tiny hat, and that automatically raised a red flag in Andrei’s mind. He had his eye on someone!

That must be why Alin subjected himself to such a crowd, and such squalor conditions. He didn’t even seem agitated, which was surprising as there were very few people he was comfortable around. 

It was with the best of fortunes, Andrei noticed, that Alin, for all the time he spent here, did not seem hell bent on blowing what little he earned on drink and fine foods. Or, at least, whatever disease on a plate they served here, he noted as he glanced at the other tables. Alin had settled for a glass of water he chose to ignore, along with his little brother once the initial shock had worn off. He was back staring at the stage with glassy eyes.

“So, this is that restaurant I have heard so little about, my dear brother?” Andrei looked around once more, just to confirm it was a dump. He opened the cap of his drink and took a long swig, staring at the other evenly.

“Indeed,” Alin replied.

“Any particular reason?” he inquired, “I mean, this is not somewhere I picture you feeling happy frequenting.”

“I like the ambiance,” his brother replied innocently. Alin was a terrible liar through and through when he needed to be, and a glare from the younger man quickly broke through his shambles of a facade.

“I do not wish to say,” Alin turned his nose up.

“Well, Ediz is in charge at home so I can stay as long as I want,” Andrei leaned forward, elbow propped on the table, chin resting on his palm.

“Please just leave,” whined Alin.

“I am afraid I cannot,” replied Andrei, grin replaced by a serious glare, “your actions have been somewhat suspicious of late, and I need to make sure you are not doing anything that would land you and I in trouble.”

“And you call me paranoid,” Alin matched his little brother’s glare, “why would I wish to place trouble upon myself when there are enemies everywhere?”

“A good question.” Why on earth didn’t he ever talk quieter? Still, Andrei supposed as he glanced around, no one else appeared to be listening, if they could even hear the brothers over the noise. He took yet another long gulp, for a sliver of courage to confront the usually difficult man.

“This is where I go to get away from the apartment,” Alin admitted, “is that a satisfactory answer?”

Before Andrei could reply that no, it wasn’t, the crowd began to clap furiously, a handful even rising to their feet as Andrei wheeled round to find a duo briskly making their way to a bulky pair of microphones. The woman he recognised immediately: Farkas’ mother Érzsebét Héderváry, looking 20 years younger in her red knee-length dress, and he hated himself for staring at his best friend’s mother in such a way, but she looked so different from the worn out, harried munitions worker in baggy overalls he was used to seeing. He wasn’t even sure he had seen makeup on her face before this moment.

But as interesting as Érzsebét was here, her companion was just as peculiar, if not more so.

He seemed to be slightly younger than Ms Héderváry, still at least ten years Alin’s senior though, with chocolate hair and a lined face, dark bags under his eyes. If he was younger, he would be handsome, Andrei supposed, though there was something about him that suggested to the boy this singer was younger than he looked, and had seen more than his fair share of horrors. That man had a face Andrei had seen a million times, on refugees and war veterans alike, and he wondered which of the two the singer was.

The most striking thing about him, however, was the old, rickety wheelchair he carried himself in. 

The man had no legs, only mere stumps that barely made up half a thigh each, and Luca’s words still resounded in his head, of the war and memories of such a time. Had this man lived through it all somehow? 

Érzsebét and the man took a microphone each, and as slow piano music began to play, the two sang a duet, gentle and soft at first but growing in passion. Érzsebét’s voice wasn’t anything special, it was nice, gravelly but weak; her partner on the other hand, had a voice that turned Andrei’s insides to liquid. The legless man sure could sing, voice deep and powerful, hitting every note and his strange accent made his voice all the more appealing.

Still, at least this answered a whole pile of questions, Andrei concluded as he turned back to Alin and found the man staring up with a dreamy expression.

“So,” he drawled, “a new flame? I had no idea.”

To his surprise, Alin froze, shaking his head as he paled considerably. He seemed to break into a sweat on the spot, squirming and looking anywhere but at Andrei.

“What? No, of course not!”

“Hey, no need to be afraid,” Andrei assured him, “I will not be telling anyone.” What got Alin in a twist? Did he really not trust his brother to keep a few feelings to himself? Probably not.

“It is wrong and we cannot discuss it here,” Alin hissed, “I am an abomination but I am not in love! You are wrong there.”

“I know Ms Héderváry is a considerably older woman,” Andrei spoke up, “but no one would blame you after seeing her like that.”

“Héderváry?” Alin wrinkled his nose in disgust, “that witch? I do not love her! Nothing of the sort.”

“Right, of course.”

“I speak nothing but the truth,” Alin insisted, “you know how we detest each other.”

“I understand,” Andrei’s grin was from ear to ear now, “your secret is safe with me.”

“There is no secret!”

“Whatever you say.” He chanced one more glance behind him as the duo finished their song, taking deep breaths and talking quietly before the piano in the corner started up again. “You do not see much of his kind around anymore,” Andrei commented. 

“Bulgarians?” Alin raised an eyebrow, “I cannot move for them at work.”

“No, cripples,” Andrei turned back around, “and what looks to be an ex-soldier too. I did not think there were any left wandering around, not with the general attitude to seeing such people.” His old teacher was the only ex-soldier he could name off the top of his head.

“And what would that attitude be?” Alin asked apprehensively.

Really? Did his brother keep his brain under a rock? It was pretty clear how people felt about such men and women, even to a kid like him. Especially to someone with a family like his.

Andrei leaned closer, taking ano ther swig and staring at his brother with a malicious grin. “Lock ‘em up. Keep them away from us normal people. Who wants a reminder of the bad side of the war? Oh, we will commend our heroes, honour them. We celebrate the victory, but we do not want to remember the death.”

“How is it something we can forget?” Alin mumbled, hands gripping the edge of the table.

“Well, it is easier with no crippled. The maimed, the mad, who wants to see them? That is what they do with them! Keep them hidden. And those are our heros, supposedly!”

Alin bristled, wrinkling his nose. “Where are you going with this?”

His little brother leaned forward, eyes wide. “What about those born lame? Or crazy?”

“What about them?”

“Well, they are not even heroes. They are useless!”

“Shut up!” Alin slammed his hands on the table. The groups sat at tables around them jumped and wheeled around in horror, but thankfully he hadn’t caused a restaurant-wide disturbance.

“I apologise,” Andrei hissed, unsure if he should grab his brother’s arm, “really, I have no idea what came over me, but please sit down.”

“Am I causing a scene?” For a single, heart-stopping moment, Andrei thought he would. Alin certainly seemed to be considering it. But the man sank into his seat instead, and Andrei breathed a sigh of relief.

“I do mean it,” Andrei insisted, “I am sorry. It is just the drink talking.”

Andrei hadn’t meant to upset his brother so much. The alcohol made him care less about his words, more curious to see if he could elicit a reaction from him.

Alin wasn’t normal; he’d been told that often enough. Andrei would deny it to everyone though, for his brother’s sake. People said enough heartless things as it was without him confirming Alin was different. The neighbours loved gossiping about the mad Radacanu brother, whether or not he was dangerous, when he would finally snap. If he would go down the same road as his mother.

Not to mention he might be taken away, for his own good, allegedly. 

Alin said things no one was supposed to, and in a place like this that was a dangerous road to tread along. Not only did he see enemies everywhere- more so than Andrei even- but his emotions were sub-par. He didn’t even cry when their mother died last year!

And then there were his beliefs. H e did not believe in a higher power, but he believed in some odd things, like magic, ghosts, all things supernatural. He believed he could predict the future, though all his predictions amounted in visions of betrayal from those he was close to. They never came true because he never gave them a chance to. Alin cut himself off from everyone, and try as he could, Andrei- the one person Alin could trust, could call a dear friend- could not break down his brother’s barrier completely.

Still, he had found all he needed to know, and said more than he was should’ve, so Andrei settled back in his seat and let the music and alcohol take over his senses. Luckily, tomorrow was his day off so he wouldn’t have to worry about a scolding from Katya or getting his siblings up, so he cleared his worries from his head quite forcefully, and relaxed for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, our main couple has met at last!  
> This might be a good time to tell you all my singing voice headcanon for Bulgaria is Emil Dimitrov, which is what I listen to when I imagine him as a singer, like writing this, for instance. Also yeah, now you know what happened to Hungary and Kugelmugel, sort of, you’ll have more time to ponder what the fuck happened to poor old Bulgaria, or more specifically, his legs.  
> Again, sorry for the lateness. This shan’t happen again, well not to this degree. Just gotta hope I come up with a middle to this, or at least tie what I have up together, because this fic is a right betler. If your definition of belter is something full of drama and angst.


End file.
